


Crowley Throws the Pickle Jar On The Ground

by NotASpaceAlien



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen, Short, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-16
Updated: 2016-01-16
Packaged: 2018-05-14 05:44:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5731579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotASpaceAlien/pseuds/NotASpaceAlien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Exactly what it says on the tin</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crowley Throws the Pickle Jar On The Ground

**Author's Note:**

> on tumblr at http://not-a-space-alien.tumblr.com/post/129042789555/prompt-crowley-throws-the-pickle-jar-on-the

Crowley had a craving for a certain type of food.  He didn’t want Aziraphale to know about it, because it was embarrassing.

It didn’t come to light until one day when they were in Crowley’s flat getting piss drunk and arguing, as they sometimes did.

“You wouldn’t last five minutes,” slurred Crowley.

Aziraphale drew himself up, cheeks aflame with alcohol.  “I would too!”

Crowley shook his head.  “Uh-uh.  Five minutes, you’d be dead within five minutes if you couldn’t use your angelic powers.”

“That is simply untrue!  I use my powers less often than you do!”  


Crowley drunkenly pawed his sunglasses off his face so he could stare at Aziraphale.  “You wanna make a bet?  First one to use their powers loses.”

“All right,” said Aziraphale bravely, slopping wine over the rim of his glass.  “And the loser has to…. to….”  


“Pay for dinner at the Ritz!” said Crowley.  


“Nah,” said Aziraphale.  “It has to be somethin….’mbarrassing.”  


“Mm,” said Crowley.  “Right.”  


They eventually forgot to decide what the conditions of the bet should be, but they spent the rest of the evening pointedly not using their powers, although both of them were probably too drunk to notice if the other _had_  done so.

It was then that Crowley got up and went to his refrigerator and plucked one item from the shelf: a jar of whole dills.

“What’re those?” said Aziraphale, furrowing his brow.  


“”s pickles,” said Crowley, the pickle water sloshing in the jar as he set it on the counter.  He had forgotten he didn’t want Aziraphale to see him eating them, but had also forgotten to care.  


“What’re they for?”  


“For eating.  Y’know.  Pickles.”  


“What are you going to put them on?” said Aziraphale, befuddled.  


“My tongue,” he said, beginning to unscrew the lid.  Except the lid would not unscrew.  And Crowley suddenly remembered that he almost always cheated to open jars, because he was not Naturally Strong.  


He peered up at Aziraphale, who was looking at him strangely.  His drunken stupor had amplified his inexplicable pickle craving.  He looked back down at the jar and pressed his weight onto it.

“Would you like some help with that?” said Aziraphale, getting up, wobbly.  


“No!” said Crowley, biting his lip.  He gripped the jar’s lid with a cloth and tried to spin it, but it did not budge.  


“Let me help you,” said Aziraphale, but he tripped over the small step up leading into the kitchen and fell on his face.  


“I can do it,” said Crowley.  He could vaguely recall that humans had invented something to open jars, but the alcohol was clouding his memory and he didn’t think he owned one.  His hand was starting to hurt from prying at the lid.  


“Let me help,” said Aziraphale, on his way back up.  


“No!” said Crowley, and turned from him to hide the jar as he continued to struggle with it.  


Aziraphale tried reaching past him to grab it, without success, and Crowley gave an enraged hiss and hurled it at the floor.  It cracked open, spattering juice everywhere, the remaining pickles floating morosely in the puddle on the floor.

“Ten second rule,” said Aziraphale.  


“Five second rule,” said Crowley, pouncing onto the ground after the fallen jar.  


Both of them managed to keep their promise not to use their powers at least until morning, but since neither of them had sobered up, both of them woke up without a clear recall of what had happened the previous night, so Crowley was just left wondering where his jar of pickles had gone.


End file.
